


Overwatch/Reader Oneshots

by sindumpling



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Angst, Blackwatch, Blackwatch Genji Shimada, Blindfolds, Dramatic Soldier 76, Edgy Grandpas, Espionage, F/M, Flirting, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Reader-Insert, Talon - Freeform, Teasing, Unrequited Love, not quite smut
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-30
Updated: 2018-05-21
Packaged: 2019-02-08 20:09:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 8,912
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12872079
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sindumpling/pseuds/sindumpling
Summary: McCree is willing to flirt even with a gun to his head. Hanzo is too distant to accept your honesty. Soldier: 76 is a dad, but that's not the only reason he's so strict with you. The scenarios are endless, the fluff sweet enough to rot your teeth.(This is a collection of Overwatch x Reader oneshots, each with varying levels of smuttiness, angst, humor, and fluff. Requests are open!)





	1. Unrequited // Hanzo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> You've had enough of Hanzo brushing off your feelings for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 59. "You know, just once it would be nice if you were the one chasing me instead of me always chasing you."

You frowned at the sight of Hanzo, glaring at you as if you were just wasting his time. He didn't understand how serious you were about him, and it was starting to hurt. "Listen, accept my confession or reject it, but this is the last time I'm saying it. I love you. Even though you pretend that you're unaware of my feelings, I love you, Hanzo."

He paid no mind to your words, instead glancing up at the grey clouds looming above your heads. "We don't have time for this. Let's get inside before it starts raining."

"No."

Hanzo paused for a moment before looking back to you, eyebrows raised. "No?" he repeated incredulously. It was the first time you'd ever stood up to one of his commands, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. "What do you mean 'no?'"

"I'm not going inside until you give me an honest answer. How do you feel about me, Hanzo? This one-sided affection is starting to get draining." You didn't falter as his stare grew more intense. "Just tell me what exactly you want out of me, and be done with it."

"You have no right to make any demands out of me. Come inside and we will discuss this at a later date." His tone was firm, his posture imposing.

Still, you didn't back down. "You know, just once it would be nice if you were the one chasing me instead of me always chasing you."

"This is your last warning: drop it before you say something you'll regret."

"God, Hanzo. Can we just stop it with this subordination thing you've got going on? I get it, okay? I agreed to serve you and follow you to the ends of the Earth because of a life debt, but I've long since fulfilled that, don't you think?" Your voice was getting shaky as you rushed to continue despite the disapproving look he was giving you. "I've stayed so long because I love you! Why can't you grasp that?"

Hanzo heaved a sigh, his expression finally softening. "Why can't you be comfortable with where we're at right now? Why must you attempt to take things farther?" He looked tired as he studied the aesthetics of your face.

This was the closest thing to a response you've ever gotten out of him. "I love being around you-- being with you. I just want to be able to do so while knowing that you appreciate my company." The air misted with precipitation as you spoke. "Specifically, I want to know that you appreciate me as a person."

He pinched his eyes shut in frustration. "Of course I appreciate you. We do not need to be lovers for me to do so, (Y/N). Why are you so determined to push our relationship past that of two professionals?"

"It's not just my wanting to be appreciated that's driving my actions, though! My heart hammers in my chest every time I see you. I get lightheaded and I can scarcely focus on anything other than the looks you give me and the abundance of skin that your outfit shows!" Your cheeks heated up a bit at the last admittance, and you saw a flicker of indignance flash across Hanzo's features. "I can't take my eyes off of you. I want some sort of return for all these emotions that you instill unto me." 

"(Y/N), I-"

But you were already rambling on. "Honestly, I know I should be more embarrassed about all of this, but I can't find it in me to care anymore. In fact, let me take this chance to admit that I want more than just an emotional connection with you, Hanzo. I want the physical side of having a relationship with you, too! How many days go by that I fight immoral thoughts at seeing how skilled those hands of yours are when you handle your bow?"

Hanzo looked more vulnerable than you'd ever seen him, his eyes wide in both shock and abashment. He wasn't even fazed by the light drizzle of rain as you ranted on without regard for consequences.

"And don't even get me started on how I feel training for hand-to-hand combat with you! I've never said anything, but my thoughts tend to drift when you have me pinned to the ground, you know? And I think I'm having a heart attack every time you and I share living quarters because there's always that small hope in the back of my mind that you'd take advantage of the situation!" You stared him down determinedly, taking note of the way his jaw was tensed and his face was reddening. "Is all of this new information enough to catch your attention? Does it resonate with you?"

Hanzo grabbed you by the collar of your shirt, pulling you against him with an intense glare. "I recall advising you to cease this nonsense before you made any regrettable statements."

"I'm not taking any of it back." You were on a rebellious streak, and you could tell it was throwing Hanzo off. 

Hanzo held your gaze with ferocity. "You make me think things that my ancestors would despise." In the next moment, he pulled you closer, pushing his lips against yours in a single movement.

Your mind went foggy, but all of your senses seemed to be heightened; you could feel in great detail the contrasts of Hanzo's warm body and the chilling droplets of rain hitting your bare arms, the soft curvature of his lips as they melted into yours, and the smoothness of his skin as he wrapped his arms around your thinner body. 

You were really, truly kissing Hanzo.

When this realization dawned on you, you moved your hands to grip at the fabric on his back, moving your lips against his eagerly. If you'd known that all it took to get Hanzo to listen to you was a bit of sexual tension, you would've revealed your thoughts much earlier on.

All too soon, you had to pull away and catch your breath, your eyes meeting Hanzo's almost shyly. "That was... wow."

He turned away, clearing his throat. "Please come inside. We can further discuss this in the privacy of my room."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I love this boy so much, but I'm always nervous about writing him out of character. Anyway, the next oneshot will be a Tracer x Reader based on Soulmate AU #1!


	2. Reunion // Soldier: 76

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 12. "Please don't leave me. I love you."

The last place you expected to hear Jack Morrison's voice was in the backstreets of a small town like Dorado. You hadn't expected to hear his voice ever again, in fact. The chances of him being alive were just so minuscule that you'd disregarded them altogether long ago.

Of course, there were nights that you'd pretend, for just a moment, that he was still out there somewhere. It was always on the darker nights, when the moon was covered by thick, lowly hanging clouds that left a cool haze over the city. You'd enter your bedroom, accept the fact that somebody would forever be missing from it, and collapse into your blankets with a desperate sob. 

On your worse nights, when the force of your crying was strong enough to rack your entire body, you would go so far as to imagine him in bed next to you. You'd put so much of yourself into conjuring up the perfect recollection of his face that you could almost believe you were seeing him past the wall of building tears that obscured your vision. More importantly, you'd feel the warmth of arms you hadn't actually felt around you in years. It was your way of coping with what you'd lost that day at the Swiss Headquarters.

Tonight wasn't supposed to be one of those nights. You hadn't had to resort to playing make-believe with a dead man in months. Even on this year's anniversary of his death, you were able to keep it together and even hold the strength to visit his memorial site on your own. So, to hear his voice again with no warning was worrying, to say the least.

You had a mission. You had a town to protect. You shouldn't—no, couldn't allow your emotions to get the best of you. Especially not with a gang like Los Muertos on the the loose. They were dangerous, unpredictable. In fact, the entire reason you'd been drawn to them on this particular night was because of the sudden burst of explosives you'd heard from a few streets over.

"Not anymore."

There it was again, though. His voice, the same low grumbling from so long ago, ringing in your ears. It was the same voice that had reassured you of yourself so many times in the past, promised to protect you, and confessed that he'd loved you. The sound of it knocked the air out of your lungs and clouded your vision, but you were reluctantly relieved to hear even a paracusia of it. 

No matter how earnestly you were trying to convince yourself that these perceptions of Jack weren't real, you still couldn't prepare yourself for the shock you felt when he passed you. From your position crouching behind the crates lining the alley, you saw Jack Morrison in the flesh. He was different, yes: his once glowingly blonde hair now held a grey hue; a mask covered the large majority of his face; a pale red scar stretched vertically across his forehead. Even with these differences, though, he was still Jack. He was still the man that you'd once loved.

He didn't notice you as he ambled past your hiding place. You couldn't help yourself; you scrabbled to your feet and called out to him, grabbing at the back of his jacket like he'd evaporate if you didn't have a grip him. 

"Jack!" Your voice was not your own as you cried his name; it was hoarse and gravely, like you'd swallowed sand. "Jack Morrison. That's you, isn't it?"

His entire frame went rigid in response. He didn't turn around. "Jack Morrison is dead."

"He's not." You could scarcely believe that, after all the work you'd put into putting his death behind you, you were making such a confident claim. "You're Jack. You have to be."

"I was, once upon a time. Those days are over now, kid."

Surely, if he'd called you kid, he hadn't put your voice to your face. He couldn't have recognized you yet. You had half the mind to spin him around yourself, to confront him. Your knuckles were white from grasping his jacket so tightly, and you noticed traces of ash painting your fingertips. "Wait, that explosion . . ."

He pulled himself away from you before you could finish. "I'm fine. It's dangerous for a lady to be alone at night. See to it that you get home quickly."

"Jack Morrison," you started with a shaky breath, "American super soldier and Overwatch commander. A poster boy for the organization, really. Currently, there's ten million dollars offered to anybody who can lead to your capture." Inhaling slowly, emotionally, you finished. "I spoke at your funeral."

Finally, he turned around, only a few steps away from you. Even with his face so well hidden, you could see the recognition crossing his features. "(Y/N)."

Hearing him say your name again was the icing on the cake. You choked back a sob, but couldn't find it in you to turn your face away from him, scared that if you took your eyes off of him for even a second, he'd disappear again. Your mind was swimming with questions and accusations but only one statement made it out of you. "I wouldn't have forgiven you if you'd forgotten me."

"Some things," Jack sighed, "are better left forgotten."

"You really think it would've been better to forget me altogether?

"I don't mean you." He gazed at you through his visor, his stare unwavering.

"You think I should forget about you." It came out as a statement, rather than the question you'd originally intended. "Jack, I—"

"Not just me. I mean everything: Overwatch; freedom fighting; what we had. The world is too dangerous for you to be focusing on such matters now."

"What we had?" You grimaced at his advice. "There's nothing dangerous about what we had. Stop running away from this." You could feel another wave of tears coming on, but you forced them back. "Please."

"It may not have been dangerous to be associated with Jack Morrison," he conceded, "but Soldier: 76, who I am now, is a different story."

"You're Jack Morrison. You can change locations, names, and appearances, but you can't change how I feel about you." You stepped closer to him, boldly reducing the space between the two of you. "I thought you were dead. Even years after I'd attended your funeral, I never thought about another man. You're not somebody who I can forget with ease."

"I never claimed it would be easy. I should know that much."

"I don't think you do, though." Your melancholy was starting to dissipate into frustration. "I don't think you've had nearly as much trouble adjusting as I have. Do you know how many nights I spent fighting with myself over whether I should move on or preserve your memory? Do you know how many hours I've spent grieving at what was supposed to be your grave? Jack, I was truly convinced that you were dead!"

"It would've been better if it had stayed that way." Jack shifted in place, clearly bothered by your ranting. "I won't deny that I deserve what's happening right now. Seeing you torn up like this, realizing how hard it's been for you since the incident at Swiss Headquarters—it's not how I would've liked to spend my night."

"Well," you huffed, "how you wanted to spend your night is irrelevant. Let's consider the facts: I'm here now, I know you're alive, and I still feel the same way about you that I did when I was your subordinate during our time in Overwatch. So, what's your next move, Commander Morrison?"

Past correcting the way you addressed him, Jack turned his shoulder on you. "My next move is ending this here and now. I'm leaving."

He'd scarcely made it two steps away from you when you fell to your knees, the hurt his words provoked feeling wholly physical to you. You didn't want to run in circles with him. You knew that you wouldn't get anywhere presenting him with the same information you'd already pushed upon him. Helpless, you called out to him a final time. "Please don't leave me. I love you."

Jack stopped in his tracks. You knew you'd at least managed to wear him down throughout tonight's exchange, but you doubted that your last ditch effort would've been enough to have any effect on him. Perhaps it was the sincerity of your confession, or maybe it was the hollowness and desperation in your voice, but he turned to face you once more. 

"I never thought an old man like me could ever hear words like that again." He knelt in front of you, the hesitance in his actions keeping you on the edge of panic. "Especially from you."

You reached out to him, cradling the side of his covered face. "You make it seem like you expected my feelings to disappear with time."

He removed his visor. Aside from the scar on his forehead, you noticed a thin one that ran over the corner of his lips. Stubble dotted his jaw, casting a shadow over the lower parts of his face. But, again, he was still Jack. 

"Give me the chance to finally kiss you again." His eyes met yours, and you could see the tiredness in them, undoubtedly from restless nights and busy days. "I know I don't deserve it, but I can't help but want to."

You didn't reply, responding simply by letting your swollen eyes flit closed as you lifted your lips to his, a bittersweet smile playing at your face. He was much gentler than he was when he'd last had the opportunity to kiss you, his movements much more slow and deliberate, his hands reaching to hold the small of your back. The soft pressure his lips applied to yours as he held you made you practically melt in his arms, a warm puddle of glowing bliss saturating your chest. The nostalgia was the only feeling stronger than comfort as you moved your lips against his, finally feeling at peace again.

He was the first to break away, his face flushed and conflicted as he moved to stand. "I really shouldn't have done that," he sighed, a hint of aggravation evident in his tone, "but I guess old habits die hard."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have SO many requests to do. The Tracer x Readers that were requested months ago on my wattpad are near the top of my list right now, so I'm really sorry for all the waiting you guys have done.


	3. Sadistic // Reaper

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When you're left alone at Talon HQ with Reaper, he questions your motives for joining. Your motive is your recklessness, and you're more than ready to exhibit that trait for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 45. "How has your day been?" "Excuse me?" ". . . I was just curious."

You sat across from Reaper, hands folded in your lap. The base was silent as you focused your gaze on the break room door. When much of Talon had called for a celebration after a recent victory, you'd opted to stay behind; it wasn't smart to leave a base unguarded. This, apparently, was also Reaper's thought. Though, he didn't seem like one for celebration in the first place.

Reaper, who scared you to no end. You may have been brave enough to join forces with a dangerous terrorist organization, but you were in no way brave enough to sit around making small talk with the infamous reaper. Even with his skeletal mask obscuring his face, you could feel his sharp, judging gaze on you. It was almost thrilling to be in his presence. 

Pushing your fear aside, you cleared your throat. "So, how has your day been?"

"Excuse me?" His voice was rough, threatening even.

". . . I was just curious."

Silence blanketed the room once again, and you fiddled with your fingers. You respected Reaper, despite your wariness. He was something you could never be: authoritative. What he said went, and he wasn't one to back down. You desperately wanted to win the rare, brief words of praise that some of the more prominent members of Talon would get out of him, but you'd never had the opportunity to prove yourself. 

"Hey, kid."

You were pulled out of your thoughts, your head snapping up to meet the dark pits of the mask where Reaper's eyes should be. "Sir?"

"What's a girl like you doing in a terrorist organization like this, anyway?"

"What do you mean by 'a girl like you?'" You were relieved that he'd at least made an attempt to cut through the awkward atmosphere, but you weren't expecting such a personal question. In a line of work like this, people typically don't ask each other about their motives. 

"Small. Quiet. Submissive." His frame was still, his voice even. "Frail. Obedient. You don't exactly have the look for widespread terrorism."

"Oh, I hadn't realized I'd seemed so weak to you." You averted your gaze, slightly disappointed at the development.

The feel of Reaper's eyes on you was still present, sending a shiver down your spine. He was dangerous, and you reacted to that danger almost involuntarily. "Not weak. Just not built for murder. I asked you a question, now answer it," he commanded.

"I didn't join for blood lust; that much is true." Your voice was low as you spoke. It didn't take a genius to know that the reason you'd just vocalized was the exact reason Reaper had joined. He was a psychopath, albeit a high-functioning one. "I joined out of boredom."

"You don't sign up to commit mass terrorism out of boredom."

"I did," you assured him. "It sounds terrible of me to say it so lightly, I know. I was just . . . tired of living life on the sidelines. I want to impact the world in a big way before I die. I want to leave a part of myself here, even if it's through nefarious means."

"And you decided to do that through Talon, of all things?"

You tensed at the sound of his gravely voice. It was as though he was interrogating you. "It keeps me interested. I never know when I'll get caught. It's a gamble, with three possible outcomes: survival even after all of this is over, where I live life on the run; death by the hand of the law; and death by the hand of somebody like you."

"Or me specifically. I'm not exactly stable. I could shoot you right now, out of boredom, and have no repercussions of doing so, you know? "

You nodded. "Exactly."

"You enjoy situations like this?"

"Usually, yes."

"Dios mio," he chuckled under his breath, a dark rumble from within his chest. "You're an absolute masochist."

"And you," you murmured, "are an absolute sadist. What of it?" 

"It seems we compliment each other, then." Reaper stood from his seat across from you, making his way around the table. "Truly though, you must really like gambling with death if you're bold enough to assign me labels."

You felt yourself flush a light shade of pink as you focused your stare on your lap. It was true: you were out of line. "I prefer flirting with death, actually." The race of your heart as you said this brought a small smile to your face. Truly, you were too willing to put yourself into dangerous situations.

He leaned in from behind you, his face next to yours. "The question is, are you telling the truth, or just trying to give yourself a good scare?" he said, so close to you that the bottom of his mask brushed the shell of your ear. You could feel his hands gripping the back of your chair.

"A little bit of both." You turned, bringing yourself to look him in the face. A rush of adrenaline shot through you, and your shoulders relaxed. This is what you joined Talon for. This uncertainty of whether or not you were safe; this power to make reckless decisions without judgement from others—it was all that was keeping you going. "Do I need to prove it?"

You hadn't realized how cold the room was until Reaper backed away again, the absence of him allowing your body to work its way back into homeostasis. He leaned against the table, the dark pits of his mask bearing into you. "I don't understand why you're laying your death wish out for me to see."

"Well," you hummed, "we're all alone in the vast expanse of our headquarters, with nobody to disturb us. You could use the opportunity to hurt me—kill me, even—but there's not much fun in that for you right now, is there? If you wanted to cause me any serious harm, you would've already done it.

"I figure that you have urges and desires just like any other man. A little flirting would probably suit you at the moment, right?" You continued on, gauging his reaction cautiously. "After all, I doubt that there are many women who are brave, or stupid, enough to sit around trying to provoke you. If it's a mind game, which flirting almost certainly is, then there's no winning against somebody like you."

"And you're brave, or should I say stupid enough, to play that game?"

"Brave and really reckless," you told him quietly. "And you're in a decent enough mood to put up with me?"

An inky cloud of black smoke rose from where his feet were, and suddenly he was on the other side of you, the sharp talons of his gauntlets brushing against your cheek as he pushed a strand of your hair out of your face. "For now."

Your entire body tensed, your alertness rising. The quickening pulse you felt under the layer of skin on your wrist coupled with the clamminess of your hands was satisfying to you, in a way. You'd wanted a rush, and you were certainly getting it. 

You reached for his mask, but before your fingertips could even make contact, he grabbed your wrist. His grip was strong enough that it hurt, but just barely. He could certainly break it with just the one hand he was holding it with, but he was being more patient than you were used to seeing him.

"Don't let your luck thus far make you cocky." 

Black fog rose around your eyes, blocking your vision completely. You should've expected something like this, but a small gasp still pushed it's way past your lips.

"Still a thrill seeker?"

You mustered a nod at hearing his condescending voice, which seemed almost pleased at seeing your reaction to the obstruction to your vision. "Yes, sir."

"Good. You're going to need that ballsy attitude."

In the next moment, you felt a pressure on your lips, forceful and thick with insinuations. You took in the pressure of his lips against yours, the texture of his face hinting at scar tissue and facial hair. You were surrendering yourself to Reaper, world-renown terrorist and heartless murderer. He was quite possibly the most dangerous person to be doing something like this with, and the thought sent a rush of delicious panic over you.

When your lips were met once again with air, you shot a smile to where you assumed Reaper was still standing. "We probably have a few hours until anybody gets back, and I'd love to experience exactly what it is that makes Reaper so very intimidating."

"I assure you," his deep voice responded, this time unaffected by the muffle of his mask, "you will find out very soon."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh boy whenever will I get to writing those Tracer oneshots?????


	4. Nightmares // Genji

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Genji has a nightmare, and you finally get him to open up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 68. "Are you okay? You're sweating." "Bad dream."

Genji Shimada was shaking, trembles washing over him in waves, and you had no idea what to do. You had been doing your best to support your new Blackwatch compatriot throughout his first couple of months of service, but you honestly didn't know how to respond to his current state.

You'd only let yourself into his room to deliver some pain medication on Doctor Angela Ziegler's behalf. If you'd known you would find him in this state, you would have insisted that she came along, because although you assisted much with the programming of his cybernetics, the human part of him was out of your area of expertise, and you wouldn't be able to do much if he was in a state of medical emergency. 

"Genji?" You reached a tentative hand out, lightly pressing it to his arm in an attempt to get him to stir. You almost immediately withdrew it when you felt how astonishingly hot his skin had become. "Damn, this is bad," you muttered.

You set the bottle of painkillers on his nightstand before rushing to remove the metal attachments that masked the majority of his face. You'd only seen his face once or twice, in curious glances while you assisted Doctor Ziegler in the early stages of his cyberization and recovery. Seeing it again, and the conflicting emotions that flashed across it in his slumber, was somewhat jarring for you. "Genji!" you tried again, louder this time. 

He shifted, his eyes flying open. In the next moment, he'd grabbed you, aggressively pinning you flat against the bed. A low hiss escaped his lips, his grip tightening around your wrists, firm enough to hurt.

You were on your stomach, wincing at the slight pain Genji was causing you as he pressed his knee into your back. His anguish was not a result of physical pain, it seemed. A relief, as a nightmare would be much easier for you to handle than a medical emergency. "You're being surprisingly forward for somebody who just woke up," you joked with a strained chuckle.

His hands left your wrists almost immediately and he moved off of you. "I am . . . terribly sorry. You surprised me and I acted on reflex."

You moved to a seated position on the bed and studied his expression. Even with the scar tissue that spread across some of his face, you could still see some of the youth he had left in him, the worry hidden in the darkness of his eyes. "It's my fault. I let myself in. To my defense, it was out of concern for you."

He was quiet, his gaze moving to the painkillers on the nightstand, which were accompanied by the attachments you'd taken off of him.

"Are you okay? You're sweating."

"Bad dream."

"Want to talk about it?"

"I'd rather not."

Doctor Ziegler knew everything, as did the officials involved in the decision to rebuild Genji into what he was now. Genji had given them his story, but he'd never reached out to you. You always tried so hard to be supportive and to help him recover emotionally, and he still hesitated to trust you. His trust issues were warranted by his background, you at least knew that much, but you didn't know any of the details. "You can talk to me, Genji. I won't hurt you for it."

"You wouldn't be able to," Genji responded dully. "This new body is painful enough on its own, but you couldn't hope to even dent the armor it provides."

"I don't mean physical hurt." 

He ran his non-cybernetic hand through his hair. "My personal sorrows are nothing to be worried about. I am no longer even human; your sense of humanity is wasted on me."

"Is that it? Your prosthetics make you feel less human?" It wasn't the backstory you'd intended to get, but it was progress.

Genji's eyes wandered back to you, and the stress of his medical procedures and adjusting to his new life was evident in his posture. "You say 'prosthetics' like I had a single limb replaced. That is not the case; I am more metal than man now. What is left of me is flawed and scarred. I've lost the human part of myself in the wreckage of my past."

He moved across the bed to reclaim his mask, but you took a hold of his arm, pulling it back softly. "You may be scarred, but you are not flawed. Even undergoing a variety of changes, you are still the man you were before any of this happened. To me, you are just as much of a man as anybody else here, if not more so."

"You embellish your description of me."

"Not nearly enough so to counter your warped view of yourself," you responded cautiously. "Think of it this way: even with cybernetic enhancements, the heart of a man still beats under the metal." You moved your hand to rest on his chest as you said this, but the sharpness of Genji's gaze caused you to almost immediately drop your hand back into your lap. "Sorry."

He stilled for a moment before reaching his hand out to yours, hesitantly pulling it back to rest on the metal chestplate that wrapped around much of his torso. Through the thickness of the metal, you could feel the soft thudding of his heart. "It is one of the few things I can take pride in. I am relieved that my heart was spared, and that it is able to beat without assistance."

It was only then that you realized how closely the two of you had shifted together. The room felt a thousand times smaller and you were blushing. You hoped he wouldn't notice the flush to your cheeks that the dim lighting the moon outside his window made apparent. This was not the time to be thinking about potential romance; Genji needed emotional support and to think anything else was selfish. "You should have more to take pride in. There is honor in accepting yourself."

"For now," Genji sighed, "I think that having you accept me will be honorable enough." 

You cast your gaze downwards, no longer able to meet his eyes. It bothered you to no end that Genji could not view himself in a healthy manner, and that your words seemed to do little to help his shattered morale. Even so, you knew how grief worked and about the realistically difficult process Genji would likely undergo in becoming comfortable with himself. After all, Blackwatch agents didn't typically have happy backgrounds. Blackwatch was mentally a mess, and Genji was no exception. 

You had been silent a moment to long, but Genji said nothing, practicing the stillness only a trained ninja could possess. Your hands tangled with his blankets as you fidgeted. "Genji, I know that things are grim right now. I don't expect you to have gone through cyberization without any ill effects. Just know that I'll be here, however long your recovery takes."

Genji moved forward on the bed, taking hold of you and pulling you towards him in an embrace. If he could feel the heightened speed of your heartbeat or the warming of your skin, he didn't let on. "It is a relief to hear you say that. I must admit that you . . . make me feel something close to human. The words of most come as no consolation to me, but yours seem to hold a certain weight."

You couldn't see his face; your head rested on his shoulder, and you could only view the minimalist stylings of the room behind him. You pulled yourself away slightly, slowly, so that you could meet his eyes. Genji was not the type for physical contact. If anything, he was withdrawn and cold towards most agents. Having his arms hanging loosely around your lower back, as you sat alone with him in his private quarters, came as a shock to you.

Genji was kissing you before you could utter another word of comfort or a statement of your confusion. Your entire spine went stock straight, and you almost forgot to close your eyes as his lips worked against yours, his tongue dancing along the parting of your lips. He kissed you with a gentle fervor, and you could guess how long it'd been since he'd last felt physical comfort. The thought of Genji trying to deal with his emotions on his own stirred a feeling of bitter guilt within you, mixing with the bliss that was building as he caressed your face.

When he pulled away, you were quiet, for once uncertain of what you wanted to say.

For once, he was not. "I am different when you are near. I am at home."


	5. Talk is Cheap // Jesse McCree

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> McCree turns the tables on you. You want to have a little fun before you accept defeat.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prompt 31. "You are . . . beautiful." "Don't try to sweet talk me, I have a gun to your head."

You had just wanted a day off, but of course Talon just had sent you off into the middle of nowhere for a mission. You'd believed that even terrorists deserved to have some semblance of workers' rights, but that belief clearly wasn't shared by your higher-ups at headquarters, who worked you to the bone, rarely ever letting you take any vacation days. At least the pay was nice, you guessed. 

In a normal situation, though, you would've quit a long time ago. Of course, this wasn't a normal situation; it was one regarding Talon. Quitting the job was basically asking them to kill you.

On the bright side, you'd been told that this mission was supposed to be low-risk. Your job was to meet up with an arms dealer in some obsolete corner of Russia: easy, painless, and with little danger involved. Your associates at Talon assured you that the chances of there being any third party intervention were slim to none.

Of course, Talon was full of f*cking liars. Precisely for this reason, you had the cool, steel barrel of your pistol pressed to the temple of the "third party intervention" that Talon had claimed you wouldn't run into. "Overwatch?" you questioned.

"Blackwatch." 

The man in front of you was on his knees, his hands on top of his head in surrender. A red serape draped over his shoulders and a tacky cowboy hat rested atop his head. The spurs on his boots caught the light of the morning sun almost as brightly as the out of place cybernetic arm attached to him. If not for the awkward cowboy aesthetic he was showing off, you might've found him handsome.

You sneered down at him. Even if he looked like a glorified cartoon character in his western getup, he was dangerous. Showing weakness was not an option. "And why the hell are you here?"

He grinned up at you. "Listen, sugar, I think you could guess something that simple. Ain't you part of Talon? As of lately, Overwatch's entire mission statement is bent on draggin' your organization through the mud."

You scoffed at his heavy accent, tapping the nose of your gun against his skull threateningly. "But how did you know to come here, cowboy?"

His smile was lazy as he studied you up and down. "Anybody ever tell you that you look mighty pretty?"

"Don't sweet talk me, I have a gun to your head." Despite shrugging off his comment, you could feel a blush creeping onto your face. It wasn't often that you received any flirtatious compliments. There wasn't much room for fraternization in an organization like Talon, after all.

Was there room for it in Overwatch, though? Blackwatch specifically? You knew there wasn't a Talon agent alive who would act so sociable in such a tense situation. Perhaps this cowboy was just stupid. 

Yeah, that must be it. 

"Alright, let's start with something easier," you said. "What's your name?" If he had a bounty on him, you might drag him back to headquarter's instead of killing him directly.

"Why do you want to know, darlin'? Hopin' you'll get to share my last name with me one day?" He laughed, a low rumble in his chest. "I'm a traditional man, but considering marriage so soon is a bit much, dont'cha think?"

His grin didn't falter as you pushed the gun harder into his temple. "Alright, alright. I can see you gettin' impatient on me," he chuckled. His deep brown eyes skimmed your expression thoughtfully. "Name's McCree. You can keep callin' me cowboy if that's what does it for you, though, honey."

You found yourself smiling back. It didn't feel natural on your face, but it was a pleasant change of pace from your usual scowl. You gave him a free pass, not pressing for his first name. "Is every mission a date for you?"

"Only the ones where I get to meet with gorgeous young ladies like yourself. Ain't every day I get to see such a pretty face."

You brushed the gun under his jaw, pushing his face up to look at you more directly. "You must have a death wish, partner. Any of these empty compliments could be your last words. Are these the words you want to be remembered by?" You weren't used to grinning for so long, but the situation you were in brought a smile to your face. You liked the control you had; Talon didn't typically let its agents have any at all.

In a flash of movement, McCree had grabbed your wrist, twisting it sideways along with the gun. You fired a surprised shot off, but it just sailed through the air and burrowed into a nearby tree. A mound of snow slipped off of the pine upon impact, and you cursed under your breath. 

"I doubt I'll be remembered at all, darlin'. I ain't nobody important."

His grin was wicked and you felt yourself shrink back as he wrestled the gun out of your hand, clicking the safety on and tucking it into his belt. You clenched your jaw as he pushed you to the ground, pinning your hands above your head as he straddled you. You got the impression that he could've turned the tables long before now, and that he had just been toying with you. You stayed silent, gaze heavy as you considered the possibility of death. 

"Sugar," he hummed, "I think it'd be good manners to let me ask you a few questions. I'm tired of talkin' 'bout me." Even with his charismatic smile and southern charm, his expression held a sense of recklessness. 

For the first time in a while, you were scared. You hadn't felt fear like this since when you'd first joined Talon. "I'm an open book. Ask me anything."

"In any other situation, I'd ask you for your zodiac sign, but I think these circumstances call for a little somethin' different." He grinned darkly. "What's your name and clearance level?"

You'd rehearsed your response to questions like this. Give a fake name and tell him your clearance level is two, not important enough for him to torture you too thoroughly for information, but enough for him not to kill you for your uselessness. That's what Talon had instructed you to do in your early days, at least. 

Honestly, though? What did Talon ever do for you? You would've never joined if you hadn't been desperate for any sort of income. Since joining, you'd been disrespected, overworked, and constantly reminded that they'd kill you for any sort of betrayal. Screw Talon. That organization is full of complete dickheads, anyway. You'd give the cowboy your real information. "(First Name) (Last Name). Clearance level three. I'll tell you whatever you want. I'm dying soon anyway, whether it be by your hand or Talon's. Might as well stick it to them and avoid any serious torture in the process."

He whistled low. "Level three, huh? Pretty impressive for somebody who acts like they don't care for Talon. You ain't lyin' to me, are you, sugar?"

"No—and why are you still calling me by these pet names? You know what my real name is now."

He leaned closer. You could smell the lingering scent of cigars on him. "Maybe I just like those cute little faces you keep givin' me when I do it."

You rolled your eyes a bit at his admittance. "What little faces? I'm a Talon agent; don't underestimate me."

"I ain't underestimatin' nothin'. Just sayin' your expressions are cute. Lotsa things about you are." He scratched at his beard with his free hand. His rugged looks only made you feel that much more intimidated. The cowboy garb, at least, did a bit to calm your nerves. "I almost don't wanna get back to interrogating you. Might wanna save it for later and do a few other things while I got you here with me."

You couldn't push down the blush that rose to your cheeks at the thought. Getting pounded one last time before death? Not a bad way to go, you thought. McCree was attractive, save for the stupid damn cowboy look he boasted. "I wouldn't stop you." You weren't smiling anymore, but you weren't exactly scowling either. 

"Darlin'," he hummed, his voice gruff and slighted by insinuation, "don't you tempt me."

"My plans for the night have gone out the window at this point, so why not? You've got me pinned beneath you already, I figure we might as well take advantage of the situation before you (a) shoot me right here or (b) take me back to your headquarters, where I will proceed to be shot by somebody there, perhaps after some physical and mental torture." 

"You sure know what to say to get a man all hot 'n' bothered." His grin was lopsided as he spoke, his tone only partly sarcastic. You tried to ignore the fact that he didn't even attempt to disagree with any of your predictions.

"Can you just hurry this up and kiss me, cowboy?"

"Will do. I gotta say, though, I don't think your pet name for me is too endearin'. You could do to be a bit more creative." 

He captured your lips with his before either of you could toss around any more meaningless comments. You could feel the roughness of his beard brush against the lower parts of your face, accompanying the feeling of his lips moving against yours. For somebody playing the "lone cowboy" act, he sure seemed to know how to kiss a woman. 

Through it all, his cybernetic hand didn't release your wrists. He was keeping track of you regardless of what you two got up to. You fought the urge to suck your teeth, instead moving your knee to push against the inner parts of McCree's thighs. He groaned against your mouth, and a shock of satisfaction went through you.

This definitely wasn't the worst way to go out: kissing and sighing instead of kicking and screaming.

He pulled away slightly, his grin knowing. "Keep this up and I might just have to keep you around with me for a while when we get back to base."


	6. Uniform Violations // Soldier: 76

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Soldier: 76 is a dad, and you're going to play the part of a rebellious teenager.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No prompts or requests involved in this one! It was just a guilty pleasure.

"You'll catch a cold wearing that."

You whipped your head around, pointedly staring at the infamous Soldier: 76. "I'm fine, it's not that cold."

It was true, your clothing was rather revealing. Your shirt stopped three-fourths of the way down your stomach, and was translucent enough for hints of your lacy black bra to show through the fabric. Your shorts were just shy of not fitting over your butt, and you had discarded your coat on a nearby chair. That was your business, though. 

You would usually be wearing clothing that would be considered a lot more conservative, especially as autumn was nearing its end, leaving a crisp chill to hang in the air. The only reason you were so scarcely dressed was because of D.Va, whose plotting mind had conjured up the perfect source of entertainment for the night: make "Daddy: 76" deal with a rebellious teenager. 

D.Va and you were pretty close, with the two of you being the youngest agents in recalled Overwatch (you two were the squad "babies"), and you knew her well enough to have guessed she'd involve you in one of her schemes sooner or later. 

Grinning, she had decided to collect the bounty of a bet you'd lost weeks ago. "You said you'd do anything I want if you didn't score as high as me in the training simulators. You lost fair and square," she'd whined in the privacy of your room. "Just help me prove how much of a Dad Soldier: 76 is. A suggestive outfit, some run-of-the-mill back talking. That's all I'm asking for."

And here you were, grinning defiantly at the man in question. You lifted your arms up in a stretch, letting your shirt ride up as you did so, with the expectation that he would glance away in a flustered fit. D.Va would be losing her goddamn mind as soon as she saw the footage the camera you'd set up was capturing. 

He did no such thing, not even his posture changing. "It's barely even fifty degrees out today, agent. We have a mission to go on tomorrow, and I don't need you giving away our position because of your sneezing and runny nose."

You put your hands on your hips stubbornly. "I said I'm not cold." Though you couldn't see his expression under his visor, you could guess that he was quite annoyed. 

In the next moment, he was shrugging his jacket off, stomping over to you and draping it over your shoulders. "If you're not going to change into proper attire, just wear this."

You blushed for a moment, but quickly regained your composure. "No."

He crossed his arms indignantly as you tossed the jacket back at him before stomping off across the room to the couch, where Jesse McCree was on the edge of sleep. Soldier: 76 didn't follow, he just watched you reproachfully. 

"Oh, Jesse," you sang as you plucked his cowboy hat off of him, dropping it onto your head. You smiled lightly as he stirred, blinking in disbelief as he saw what you were wearing. 

"Sugar, what're you—"

You pushed a finger to his lips and winked, fighting the urge to glance behind you at Soldier: 76. Leaning in so that you could whisper in his ear, you said, "Just play along. D.Va's up to something and I just happen to be a part of it this time. I'm a rebellious teenager for today, can you play the part of the older, bad influence of a love interest?"

He nodded, tilting down the stolen cowboy hat to cover your eyes. "Feelin' bold today, are we?"

You stifled a laugh. "I suppose you could say that." You moved to sit between his legs, leaning against him with a carefree grin. Again, you could imagine D.Va's incredulous reaction to your behavior.

Unease suddenly flitted across Jesse's face as he looked past you, and for a moment you were worried that you'd made him uncomfortable. That couldn't be it though; you'd seen Jesse being far more forward with plenty of girls in the past. "Darlin', I'd hate to break it to you, but—"

Soldier: 76's hand enclosed around your upper arm, pulling you off of Jesse. "Young lady," he warned. "Is that any way to be acting in public? What has gotten into you? And give Jesse his damn hat back." He snatched it off your head, throwing it at Jesse. 

"Young Lady? I am an adult," you enunciated. 

"Well, you're not acting like one," he shot back, dragging you away from Jesse and towards the hallway.

You sent a pleading look at Jesse, but he just responded with a lopsided grin and a shrug as he reclaimed his cowboy hat. Traitor. "Let go of me!"

He did, pushing you lightly towards the wall. "Are you actively trying to get on my nerves, kid?"

"I'm not a kid! And what I wear, who I flirt with? It's none of your business," you challenged. "So it shouldn't be getting on your nerves, old man."

He ignored your name calling. "I'm not allowed to get upset at seeing you flirt with other guys?" he hissed. "Guys who are no good for you? For God's sake, you know how Jesse is with his women! You're playing yourself."

"Why the hell would it matter to you who I flirt with?! And what do you mean you get upset seeing me flirt with other guys?" You were playing your part well, from what you could tell. His sudden change in tone was off-putting. 

He sighed out of frustration. "You're an idiot sometimes, kid."

"Adult," you corrected. You hesitated before moving on to say, "Are you being this possessive out of a fatherly sort of attachment or is there something else entirely going on here?" Suddenly you didn't feel so indifferent about the outfit D.Va had helped you throw together. It now felt a lot tighter, a lot more revealing. You crossed your arms over your chest.

He laughed, an abrupt, disbelieving sound. "Fatherly attachment?"

"You treat D.Va and I like we're kids, like we need some sort of protection and guidance. It's not so bad, I guess, but it's really obvious."

"Well, D.Va does need protection and guidance," he pointed out. "And you—well, I have my reasons."

"Those reasons being?" You leaned against the wall wearily, shyly almost. You could guess where this is going.

"I think you know what they are by this part of the conversation." 

"I—"

"Listen," he interjected gruffly. "I'm past my prime. I thought I was too old to even start thinking things like this, but I'm not so sure about that anymore. Even so, I wasn't going to act on it. I'm not going to act on it."

"You're not that old."

You could practically see the look on his face through his visor. He took a step backwards, suddenly aware of how the two of you scarcely had a foot of distance between you. "Even McCree would be a better match for you, kid. You need to be more careful about the men you let into your life."

"McCree and I aren't a thing."

He looked away incredulously for a moment before turning back to meet your eyes. "What? You sit in all your friends' laps?"

"It was to get your attention!" you admitted in a rush. It was true, technically. You just hadn't considered his response to your actions. 

"And those clothes?"

"Also," you said, quieter this time, "to get your attention." God, the shirt and shorts really were tight; you felt like you could barely breathe. You wondered if D.Va was smart enough for this to have been her plan the entire time.

Soldier: 76 sucked in a sharp intake of breath. "Jesus, (Y/N)."

You looked up at him abashedly. "You aren't going to act on your feelings, Soldier: 76?"

"You make it hard for me not to sometimes." He ran a hand through his hair. "And call me Jack."

Your face flushed pink. "Can we do something? About the way you feel? About how I feel?"

"I'm too old. You can do better." 

"Please, Jack," you hummed, testing the way his name felt rolling off your tongue. 

His visor clicked, and it was discarded onto the floor in the next moment. You gasped and seemed to shrink back as his hands hit the wall on either side of your head, his face now only inches from yours. "You push me too far, kid."

You tilted your head up, bringing your lips to his. The mood shifted as he responded, his entire body finding refuge pressed against yours, a growing bulge pressing against the top of your thighs, restrained by the fabric of his pants. Your eyes were glued shut as you moved your lips against his fervently. 

A flash and a click brought you away from each other, Jack turning away from the interruption, and you staring at it wide-eyed. D.Va stood grinning, her phone camera pointed directly at you as Jack reclaimed his visor and cursed under his breath. 

She winked playfully. "One for my highlight reel!"


End file.
